


en garde. prêtes? allez.

by tobito-dorito (jelly_tyson)



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: College AU, F/F, Fencing, Strangers to Lovers, Tobin plays soccer, this is a mess but hear me out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:00:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23518087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jelly_tyson/pseuds/tobito-dorito
Summary: There was something else about the woman that drew her in to this particular dance. The stranger was tall, lean, and athletic, and her hair was tied in a tight bun under the mask. She had thin calves and arms but her strong thighs propelled her forward into the lunge. She was smooth as she moved forward and backwards, and after her attack was finished, she strode back to the starting line with an intensity in her step that was equal parts confident and threatening.Tobin was mesmerized.aka: CP as a fencer, Tobin as a Stanford midfielder, and the tale of two strangers becoming each others' biggest fans.
Relationships: Tobin Heath/Christen Press
Comments: 106
Kudos: 452





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I watched an old eleven second video of Kelley O'Hara lunacy that ended with CP in a fencing lunge position and spiraled. I was a champion fencer in high school and every so often it comes back to me in unexpected ways and without my Olympic fix this July, this happened instead?
> 
> There's 10,000 words of this mess written already, and it's been two days, so buckle up and enjoy the ride!

“See you tomorrow, Toby!”

Tobin flipped Kelley off for the nickname and wandered out of the fieldhouse locker room. She glanced at her watch and noted the few hours she had before it could officially be considered dinner time and decided to take her time on the walk back to her apartment.

An unfamiliar sound coming from the gymnasium down the hall caught her attention and Tobin followed it. The squeaking of shoes was familiar but the rhythm was wrong for basketball. The different tones of the beeps were really what enticed her to enter the gym. She opted for the stairs and decided to watch whatever was happening inside from above.

When she finally reached the balcony, the sounds were compounded by intermittent shouts and cheers and the clashing of metal on metal. The flyer on the wall read _Fencing Tournament 9:00-6:00_

Fencing.

Tobin had seen clips from the Olympics and in the movies, but really only enough to know that it involved swords and a lot of white clothes with weird helmets. In a lot of ways, she was right, but it was an entirely different experience in person. The clashes and electronic beeping intrigued her and she watched for a few minutes, but still didn’t understand anything about what she was watching.

A trio of men nearby wearing Cardinal Fencing warm-up jackets were talking loudly and Tobin scooted closer, eager to hear more about what was happening below.

“Zoe is killing it on piste four, check it out.”

Tobin found the table marked four and tried to follow along with the man’s commentary.

“Look at her, quick footwork, and parrying every attack. It’s only a matter of time before the riposte lands.” A small red light went off as the woman on the left lunged forward and the man cheered.

“See? Textbook counterattack. And a wrist pick? Wow. She’s definitely going to win this bout.”

The words were mostly English, but the commentary had confused Tobin even more. The only clear thing was that the woman, Zoe, apparently, had lunged forward and struck her opponent, a red light had gone off, and the score went from 12-8 to 13-8. 

Despite not understanding much, Tobin continued to glance around the gym. The bout on piste four looked different than the other bouts around the room. There were some similarities: all of the fencers wore white knee-length trousers and tall socks, but some had an additional layer of gray atop the white jackets. The swords looked different too, and some of the boxes weren’t just red and green but had another yellow light sometimes.

She watched the bout on piste eleven, which moved significantly more quickly. Covered in gray from the waist up, the fencers quickly advanced towards each other and lunged seemingly simultaneously. Both boxes lit up but the woman in the suit facing the bout made a few motions with her hands and eventually raised her right hand, awarding a point to the fencer on the right.

This one was definitely more confusing than the first one, Tobin thought. It looked like the most fun and pirate-like – speed and agility were requirements to win and points were achieved by swinging the blade at the opponent’s head – but there seemed to be a lot more rules.

There was a third type of attire towards the side of the gym, and Tobin found herself drawn to a woman wearing tall scarlet socks on piste twenty-three. There was a small crowd behind her wearing the same warmups as the men next to her and Tobin assumed she was a home crowd favorite.

The sword she wielded was smaller than the others and she wore the metallic covering on her torso. The movements of this type of bout were more calculated, the bout evolved slowly but the attacks were rapid and controlled. The women bounced gently, maintaining their distance, and Tobin was even more intrigued by the strategy of it all. How it all required an exact moment to attack which could appear at any time. It was like a dance, but with intensity, almost like the moment she approached a defender in a one-v-one battle at the end line.

There was something else about the woman that drew her in to this particular dance. The woman was tall, lean, and athletic, and her hair was tied in a tight bun off-centered around her. She had thin calves and arms but her strong thighs propelled her forward into the attack. She moved forward and backwards smoothly, and her free hand would swing backward for balance when she lunged towards her opponent.

After the attack was finished and points were awarded, she strode back to the starting line with an intensity in her step that was equal parts confident and threatening – everything about her posture suggested that she fully intended to win every match she stepped up to. 

It was mesmerizing.

The bout finished 15-3 in the stranger’s favor. Her small crowd cheered for her easy victory, and Tobin finally caught a glimpse of the fencer. She nodded towards her opponent and smiled widely as she shook her hand and Tobin smiled. The ruthless competitor was also the picture of sportsmanship.

When she walked farther towards the other end of the gymnasium, Tobin noticed that her name and country adorned her back in clean blue lettering. She tugged at the off-center zipper around her neck and took a swig of water and even from a distance Tobin could see the beads of sweat glistening across her jawline and down her neck.

Something stirred low in Tobin but she chalked it up to the heat of watching a new competition.

Until the stranger – Press – pulled the elastic from her bun, bent forward, and regathered the wild curls into another tight, off-center bun.

Tobin shifted her feet, straightened her back, and blushed. It was as though the woman knew the exact way to elicit a physical response from her. She watched as she talked to a few of her teammates. Well, talking was secondary. She stood the stance they always started in and used her hands to demonstrate the attacks and defenses with a teammate, nodding and emphasizing every word with a gesture until her teammate was able to repeat the motions back to her. She took it seriously. She intended to win, and she intended to take her entire team with her.

The fluidity of her motions were exactly how they were on the piste and there was something intriguing about that fact. People had often told Tobin that her own personality shined on the pitch. That her tireless drive and ambition were clear every time she received a pass and that her emotions and competitiveness often led to reckless tackles and forced shots. A college scout once profiled her perfectly after a match.

“ _You’re an artist, aren’t you?_ ” He had told Tobin. “ _The way you read the game, the nutmeg rather than the stepover, it’s technical yet creative. A painter, maybe. Probably the quiet one in your group too, but with a big heart. It’s why you prefer the assist to the goal._ ” It stuck with her for years because it was one of the first times Tobin had really felt seen when she was playing the game. It’s why she chose to move across the country for college.

She wondered if the fencer was also an artist. She wondered if she was a scientist, or a dancer, or a writer. She wondered what color her eyes were.

Tobin found a folding chair nearby and decided to watch the remaining few hours of the competition.

The number of fencers on the gym floor dwindled until only a few pistes were still occupied. Crowds of teammates and coaches grew on the outskirts of the gymnasium and Tobin fiddled with the ring around her wrist as she watched from above, her hunger long forgotten.

The tournament was an elimination round, but Press was one of the four remaining fencers. Tobin watched her composure as she stepped up to the piste. She rubbed the bottom of her feet against the fabric of her socks, squatted down low, and cocked her neck to the side. Tobin enjoyed the ritual. It was probably calming and instinctive but also meant to be intimidating: quiet, calculated, and intentional.

By now she had figured out a few more of the rituals of the bouts – the testing of the metallic coverings, the tip of the blade towards the suited referee, and the positioning of the fencers. She watched as the suited man brought his hands to the side, then towards the center, signaling the beginning of the bout. 

Tobin was swept up in the final bout. It was clear that the level of the competition had risen appropriately, and Press lost the first touch of the match. Cheers erupted for the woman in the blue and gold socks as the referee awarded a point, but Press still stalked back to her line with the same determination.

Tobin noticed the other woman’s name on her back as well and determined that it must have been a sign that they were among the best in the country.

The bout continued for another few minutes, each woman advancing and retreating, lunging and recoiling, blades crashing every few seconds. Tobin watched the women strategize an attack from distance and also fight gritty battles just inches from each other, elbows bent backward to allow the tips of each blade to still hit their opponent’s torso.

It was definitely worthy of a final bout.

The clock on the electronic box clicked down to mark the end of the first three minutes. Press was losing 2-3. Most bouts had gone to fifteen points in these rounds, but Tobin knew that there was still plenty of time for the home favorite to come back.

She began the second period with the same ritual except that this time Tobin could see the woman narrow her eyes towards her opponent. They had to know each other or at least of each other, two elite athletes from the same state must keep track, but in the heat of competition there were no friends. Tobin knew the feeling well. Friendship resumed after a winner had been decided.

The whistle blew and the dance resumed. Tobin didn’t understand the strategy of it all but it seemed like the other woman preferred speed and agility while Press preferred to wait for her perfect moment to strike. She waited for a stumble in the footwork, a missed attack of the blade, falling for a feinted attack. She scored the next three points unanswered and Tobin found it hard not to cheer from the balcony.

The match continued and Press used an attack Tobin had never seen before. When she got close enough she stretched her arm forward, circled her opponent’s blade, and ran forward full-speed. Her blade collided with her opponent’s shoulder and Tobin stood up out of her chair.

Was that… allowed? Could you just run at opponents like that?

Tobin was awestruck at how quickly it happened, but also that she hadn’t used the attack until then. As though she was waiting all day for the perfect unexpected moment to strike with no warning. And not only that, Press was fast. Her footwork was impressive in the first place as she advanced and retreated and bounced gently on the starting lines, but the way at which she exploded from her position to a full stride… that was something else.

Her section of teammates cheered as the referee raised his hand to award the point. Turns out it was allowed, Tobin thought. She remained standing from the reminder of the three-minute period, watching the blue and gold socked woman attempt to reclaim points. The period ended 8-6, with Press leading.

By the end of the third period, it was in the bag. She had secured a lead and was now content to waste time until the end. Gamesmanship, it turned out, applied to fencing, too.

The final “Halt!” was called by the suited man, and the Cardinal crowd cheered loudly for their champion. Press removed her helmet and set it on the ground before tipping her blade towards her opponent and then the referee. She smiled as she held out her hand and Tobin laughed when the other woman ignored it, instead going directly for the hug. It turned out the women were in fact friendly, and that the loss was nothing surprising.

A woman’s voice over the loudspeaker announced a medal ceremony to begin in six minutes.

Tobin caught another glimpse of the woman’s long dark hair and decided to stay for the full ceremony. She had stayed this long, she owed it to herself to applaud everyone there today.

She left her position on the balcony and instead found a spot along the wall near the doors. She leaned up against it and watched as medals were awarded for the six events. Men’s and women’s épée and sabre medals were awarded first, which meant that Press must have competed in the final event: women’s foil.

She searched around the gym for a glimpse of the woman and found her standing in a group of her teammates. Her hair had been tied back into a ponytail at some point and she crossed her arms in front of her as a teammate shoved her side jokingly and pointed towards Tobin.

Press glanced over at her and Tobin immediately felt caught for staring. She’d been watching the competition all day but she was no longer protected by the guise of being a sports fan – now she was just watching an enchanting stranger. Press continued looking towards her and Tobin smiled lamely. She turned away then, back to her teammates, and Tobin wondered if it was because she wasn’t expecting any response.

The announcer said the name of the runner up, the blue and gold socks representing UCLA’s best women’s foilist. Tobin watched Press shove off her teammates that clamored around her as her name was announced.

“And in first place, representing the Cardinal Fencing Club here in Stanford, Christen Press!”

The team cheered loudly for her and Press – Christen – walked towards the medal table. She shook hands with the other competitors and smiled widely as the second place winner wrapped her in another crushing hug, and took her place at the front of the line. A photographer in the front row snapped a picture and Tobin applauded loudly from her place along the wall, though it was drowned out by the whoops and _Yes, Pressy!_ from her louder teammates.

She didn’t miss how Christen glanced towards her as she collected her bag from the sideline and entered the locker room.

Tobin waited outside the gymnasium for what felt like an eternity. She wasn’t sure why she decided to wait. Her better instincts told her to ignore it, to leave the intriguing stranger alone, but yet she found herself juggling the ball in the front corner of the parking lot, waiting to catch another glimpse.

When she did, the ball fell ungraciously off her foot and caused her to chase it down.

Christen was surrounded by a few of her teammates but her hair was down and wet, freshly showered, and she had changed into a pair of tight leggings that accentuated the muscles previously hidden by the fencing attire. Tobin’s heart raced and she attributed it to the quick chase of the ball across the pavement.

Christen waved to her friends before turning her way, and Tobin smiled sheepishly as she collected the ball into her bag. She hadn’t thought this far ahead. She hadn’t considered the possibility of a confrontation, she just wasn’t quite ready to leave. She was intrigued by Christen Press, and knew that if she indulged the fascination, Christen at least deserved to know, otherwise she would be creepy stalker Tobin and not just an interested fan.

But suddenly Christen was walking towards her and Tobin’s heart was beating wildly in her chest. She shoved her hands into her hoodie pocket and nodded.

“Do I know you?”

Christen’s tone knocked her off balance. It wasn’t malicious, but it was not friendly, that was clear. Tobin figured she deserved some element of the intent, but the words still left her uncertain.

“Oh. Uh,” Tobin stammered.

“You were in the gym earlier. Andi saw you watching from the balcony.” Christen crossed her arms in front of her and stared her down with the same match intensity.

“Yeah,” Tobin caught a glimpse of her eyes. _Green, mostly_ , she thought. “Yeah. Yeah. Right. I’m sorry, I promise I’m not trying to be creepy. I’ve – I’ve never seen fencing before.” Christen’s glare softened a bit but Tobin could still sense the skepticism in her posture. “Soccer practice ended, and I had nothing to do and, well, it was fun to watch.”

“Why are you here?”

“It was fun to watch,” Tobin repeated.

“No, I mean why are you still here?” Christen asked.

Oh.

Tobin didn’t have an answer to that. At least not a good one. So she tried for the truth. “I was hoping I could talk to you,” It sounded lame coming out of her mouth and Tobin cringed.

“You were.”

“Yeah? I mean, you’re clearly a fantastic athlete. And a super competitor. And, well, it was impressive. I don’t get a lot of it, but it was impressive.” Tobin rambled. “And I was hoping that maybe, well, maybe you could explain what it was I just watched? Over coffee?”

Christen narrowed her eyes. The stranger before her was intriguing. She looked strong and athletic, as evidenced by the soccer shorts and ball earlier, and had quite possibly the sharpest jawline Christen had ever seen. The woman didn’t seem like someone who stumbled through words in situations like this, yet here she was. Christen continued to press the other woman’s buttons and test her resilience and intentions.

“Are you asking me out?”

“No!” Tobin shouted too quickly, and Christen raised an eyebrow. “Well, yes. Yeah, I am.”

“I don’t know who you are.”

Right. Christen’s tone was still firm, but she hadn’t outright rejected her yet, so Tobin continued.

“I’m Tobin. Tobin Heath. I’m a com major, I’m from New Jersey, and I play outside midfield. And I learned that ‘allez’ means ‘go’ today.”

Christen smiled at that, charmed by the mysterious stranger with the interesting name. She didn’t ordinarily accept offers like this from strangers, but something about Tobin’s sheepish grin and soft eyes made her think that there really wasn’t anything to lose.

“You hungry, Heath?”

Tobin nodded, almost certain she had her answer.

“Good,” Christen said as she turned away from Tobin. “You’re buying.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grilled cheeses and shared secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy macaroni - I'm already overwhelmed by the response to this!! Thank you all for the kind words already - I hope short and sweet little story about swords and soccer can live up to the response.
> 
> For those who haven't yet googled fencing, more sport-specific talk is coming in the next few chapters, but for now, our heroes get to know each other.

Tobin was suddenly very aware that she was still wearing her soccer practice shorts and that her muddy socks were still crumpled low around her ankles. She felt underdressed for the occasion despite both of them having agreed on the nearby sandwich truck for convenience. She had spent the entire afternoon watching a sport that felt so clean and refined, and now that she was sitting next to a champion in such a sport she felt self-conscious.

“Outside midfield, huh?” Christen broke the silence but Tobin still cringed at the question. Usually talking about soccer would have bolstered her confidence, but instead it had only called more attention to their differences. She was definitely out of her element here.

“Yeah.”

“That’s the one with the most running?”

Tobin nodded. She could make conversation about this for the rest of the drive. Plus, Christen seemed to know at least one or two things about it, which helped. “A lot of running, for sure, but it takes skill to be a winger,” She said. “We’re the connection between the defense and offense. It takes all eleven of us to win or lose.”

Christen hummed quietly and Tobin continued.

“I’ve played my whole life. I love the game, but I love the team more. We win together and we lose together, we celebrate and we cry together. You don’t get that from a lot of things.”

When Christen didn’t respond right away, Tobin realized she had inadvertently called even more attention to their differences. Fencing, or at least what she’d seen of it today, was an individual sport. You and you alone won or lost. It wasn’t an instant team community. Tobin rushed to clarify and explain what she’d noticed earlier that afternoon. Why she stayed.

“But my favorite part of football is figuring the game out as you’re in it.” She said quickly. “You know your own team’s strategy and strengths, but it’s all meaningless once the match starts. Every opponent, every sequence, every attack is different. It takes creativity and mental stamina even more than physical fitness. That what made me want to stay and watch the tournament today.”

Christen turned to her then.

“There were clearly some moves and, like, strategy that every fencer must learn, but you have to change and adapt based on the moment. You switch up the way you score points to keep them guessing. It’s not just about being taller or stronger, it’s about being smarter and more agile, mentally and physically.”

Christen huffed a laugh and smiled. “Are you sure you’ve never seen fencing until today?” She chided. “Because that’s _exactly_ what it’s like.”

Tobin couldn’t help but smile. “Athlete’s intuition, I guess. We’re here.”

The conversation continued over grilled cheeses and a shared plate of fries at a nearby picnic table. They talked about classes and music and dogs, then later about growing up with older sisters and the woes of hand-me-down clothes. Tobin had moved entirely across the country after being recruited, from New Jersey to California, while Christen had moved only a few hours north to attend Stanford. She told Christen about how for the first few months she had wondered why it was so easy for her to uproot herself and find a new life and the guilt she had for not calling her mom more often.

“It’s part of the process though, isn’t it?” Christen offered. “Of self-discovery. We temporarily cut ties with the person we were so that we can rejoin the edges again later. And those ties become stronger after we do.”

Tobin nodded as she watched Christen take another handful of fries. She’d never met someone who could speak eloquently about human development and psychology in between bites of greasy potatoes after ruthlessly defeating her opponents hours earlier. It was enchanting.

Christen’s skin glowed in the evening light and her crew neck sweatshirt fell gently off one shoulder. Tobin could feel herself getting more and more swept up in the woman every time she talked and worried if she would ever be able to measure up. She had never been good with words in the first place and was used to having the upper hand on first dates, but this was different. In fact, if it hadn’t been for Christen calling her bluff, she’d probably still be wondering if this was even a date. Christen was walking all over her and Tobin hoped she had enough in her to let it happen for a little while longer.

“So why fencing?” She asked.

“It was an accident, I guess,” Christen replied. “My high school had a team. It was mostly misfits and band geeks, but my best friend wanted to sign up and she dragged me along to try-outs when we were freshmen. It was new and different and used all these muscles I hadn’t used since I was a kid doing ballet, and I liked it.”

“Did you always you wanted to go to school for it?”

“Gosh, no,” Christen laughed. “I was still playing tennis then, too, but I was hooked pretty early. You’ve seen it already, but I usually describe fencing as a mix of ballet, boxing, and chess. You need to be light on your feet and fast, but it’s all about setting up the perfect attack. Finding the perfect distance, trusting your parry and riposte, and controlling the bout for the full time.”

Christen paused and Tobin watched her wring her hands before she continued.

“There was a time when I almost quit,” she admitted quietly. Her eyes were cast downward and she shrugged, hoping Tobin would fill the silence, but instead looked up to find a pair of warm hazel eyes silently urging her on.

“I practiced for hours. A hundred lunges or combination attacks each night, even after practice. But it wasn’t translating to the competitions. I was still winning, so no one really noticed, but everything was forced. I trained every day for hours but it never clicked in the bout and it drove me insane. The thing about individual sports is… there’s no one to blame but yourself.” She said.

“What changed?”

“I lost. I lost the final bout of a tournament to some sophomore nobody from Anaheim. It wasn’t even a big tournament. But I had a full-on panic attack in the locker room after.”

Tobin’s eyes were still fixed on her. Normally Christen would have already stopped and kept her walls closed off, but something about how the other woman held her gaze made her feel safe. It made her feel seen. She wondered for a moment if Tobin had felt a similar situation in her storied athletic career.

“My coach found me and made me take three weeks off. I saw a sports psychiatrist, went for a lot of long runs, started doing yoga, and I waited until I fell back in love with the sport.”

“And it worked?”

“Eventually,” She sighed. “It took a long time. I had already committed to Stanford on scholarship so there was no turning back. When I moved here I got to make a new name for myself and be the person I wanted to be.”

Silence fell over the table and Christen once again met Tobin’s eyes. “I like that person,” Tobin said quietly.

“I do, too,” Christen smiled. She felt a blush creeping up her cheeks and hoped Tobin couldn’t see it in the evening light. There was a danger in falling for a complete stranger this quickly and Tobin had already gotten her to share secrets she’d never told anyone before. “She’s got to get home soon, though, otherwise her roommate will have eaten all the good ice cream in the freezer.”

Tobin collected the garbage from the meal and tossed the car keys to herself. “Well, we can’t let that happen, can we?”

After the short drive back to the fieldhouse, Tobin once again found herself struggling to find the words she wanted to end the evening. Christen sat beside her in the parked car and played with the hem of her sweatshirt, silently pleading with Tobin to say something – anything.

“Hey – you never did teach me what it was I watched today,” She said. “I still don’t get why sometimes you get points and sometimes you just pause and restart, or why you wear that gray covering but the others don’t…”

Christen laughed at her stammering and smiled broadly. Whatever they did next, she would have home field advantage. “You’ll have to ask me to show you some time,” She replied. Tobin was relieved her naivety was mistaken as charm. “Do you have a pen?”

Tobin opened the console and was relieved to find a pen hidden among the many receipts and ketchup packets. Christen reached for her hand and held it as she scrawled a few digits into Tobin’s palm. Tobin held her breath as the pen scraped against her skin in stark contrast to the softness of Christen’s hand below hers.

Christen clicked the pen and closed Tobin’s palm with her own. She got out of the car and leaned in through the open window. Her green eyes twinkled in the twilight as she spoke. “Call me later, ‘kay?”

Tobin nodded as she watched Christen walk away towards her own car. She stayed parked in the lot for a few extra seconds after Christen wheeled away before smiling at the scribbles on her palm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're looking at ~10 chapters, ~25k words, if all goes to plan. We'll see. Stay tuned, friends.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tobin learns some new moves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We get into some more shop-talk about sports in the next few chapters because, let's be realistic, I miss sports, but there's some more good stuff on the horizon. 
> 
> Hope everyone is staying healthy and safe!

“We’ll start with footwork.”

There was a gentle breeze in the park and Tobin almost didn’t hear the sentence. She was too focused on how Christen looked in the afternoon sun. Her hair was straightened and pulled back in a ponytail and she brushed it back with both hands every so often. She wore a loose tank top that showed off her toned biceps and Tobin was absolutely certain this woman was going to walk all over her.

“Tobin.”

Tobin shook her head and snapped out of her daze. “Right, right. Footwork.”

“This is called _en garde_ ,” Christen said as she adjusted her stance.

A rush of heat washed over Tobin. God, that was attractive. Tobin made a mental note to forget the French phrase for ‘ready position’ at a later time so that Christen would have to repeat it again.

Christen was standing in front of her facing away and Tobin let her eyes linger on Christen’s body. She tried to focus on what she was saying but the curves of her hips and the skin-tight fabric of her leggings left very little to the imagination. Very little.

Tobin forced herself to breathe and listen to the instructions.

There was plenty of time to enjoy the view, but only if Christen let her.

As if on cue, Christen craned her neck around turned around to check Tobin’s stance and found her eyes fixed on her behind. Her heart skipped a beat against her will and she raised her eyebrows at Tobin, who slowly realized she’d been discovered. Tobin shrugged and offered a crooked smile, but the redness on the tips of her ears told the full story. Tobin may have been staring but also blushed when she’d been caught, and there was something to that.

Plus, Tobin had genuinely taken an interest in her sport. At first it had seemed like just another excuse to talk to her, especially considering their first interaction, but all week Tobin had been asking her questions and wanting to learn more. Too often people only knew about fencing from the movies yet still insisted they could talk with her about it, so her circle of friends and partners had stayed fairly close to her sport. It was just easier that way.

She wasn’t used to sharing something she held so sacred.

Tobin was looking at her with childlike wonder, waiting to learn something new. They didn’t even have the weapons yet – the fun parts, the swords – but Tobin was adjusting her stance and focusing intently on the position of her feet on the pavement. It should have made her nervous, but Christen felt calm and secure.

“Okay, we’ll go forward first,” Christen finally said. “An advance is a two-step move. Step one, right heel down. Step two, left foot comes forward and right toe goes down.” She demonstrated the move and Tobin imitated the motions a few times to get them going forward. Christen turned around to face her eventually.

As she rested in the _en garde_ position, Tobin’s shorts rode up her thigh revealing the tanned and rippled muscles of her legs. Christen forgot for a moment that she was also in the presence of an elite collegiate athlete.

“Wow, your calves are ridiculous,” She said under her breath.

Tobin grinned and flexed, eliciting a laugh and eye roll from the other woman.

Christen continued to explain the basic moves – advancing and retreating – and Tobin decided to use the afternoon as another opportunity to get to know even more about the fencer. They faced each other, one moving forward as the other moving backward to maintain distance, and Tobin fired off a series of fast questions.

“Peanut butter and jelly or ham and cheese?”

“PB&J. No contest.”

“Strawberry or grape?”

“Strawberry.”

“Wrong.”

“There are no wrong answers!”

“Of course there are! Dogs or cats?”

“Dogs.”

“Correct.”

After a few minutes, Tobin was moving quickly up and down the outdoor court with Christen. The muscles in her thighs ached in a slightly unfamiliar way, but one that suggested she must be doing something right.

Christen explained the basics of lunging and how it was a bit different than the ones she knew from strength training. For starters, the back foot stayed perpendicular and planted while the front kicked out to a full extension, and there were multiple ordered steps to achieving the proper form.

Tobin watched as Christen demonstrated the move slowly – painfully slowly. She stood in the starting position and extended her arm before lowering herself forward and into a full lunge. Her left arm swung backwards to maintain her balance and made it more like a yoga pose than anything she’d associate with active sports.

She was saying something about maintaining balance and flexibility and keeping your knee in line with your ankles, but Tobin only heard a dull buzzing in her ear as she looked at Christen. All her senses were focused on the woman’s form. Tobin could see her muscled legs below the thin fabric and traced the full line of her body in the lunged position. How balanced but intense the position was, how static yet dynamic she’d seen it be during the bouts in the gymnasium. Even her wrist and hands somehow looked graceful in the position despite not holding a weapon and it was hard to believe that something so elegant was the simplest form of attack in this sport.

Christen held the position for a few extra seconds. She knew she had Tobin’s eyes fixed on her and felt a rush of power and heat pool low in her stomach. She recovered from the lunge with a gentle bounce and went back to a perfect _en garde_ position before turning back to Tobin, whose breathing had since gone a bit irregular. Another wave of heat flushed through her body and Christen hoped she could blame the blush of her chest on the exercise.

She cocked an eyebrow and waited for Tobin to repeat the move. Tobin cleared her throat and muttered a quick “right, right, got it.” before assuming the starting position. She attempted a lunge and while her lower body positioning was relatively successful but Christen knew she had to correct the poor angle of Tobin’s outstretched arm.

It had nothing to do with wanting to confirm that Tobin’s arms were as toned as her calves.

It had nothing to do with how she wanted to trace the veins of her wrists all the way up her forearms until Tobin shivered under her touch.

She raised Tobin’s wrist and elbow to a full extension and felt the warm skin below her fingertips. She was gentle and firm and could practically hear Tobin’s heartbeat as she got closer. Christen placed both hands on Tobin’s broad shoulders and adjusted them to be square with her hips, the proper form, before taking a step back. Tobin stared back at her before recovering from the lunge.

Tobin bowed dramatically and drew another chuckle from Christen as they stood together in the middle of the court.

“This sport of yours seems unfairly biased towards righties,” She quipped.

“What do you mean?” Christen asked.

“Well, my right arm isn’t as strong as my left. Why would I use it to attack?”

Christen’s eyes widened as Tobin gestured to her hands. “You’re left-handed?!”

The shout surprised Tobin and she flinched. “Yes?”

Christen stalked closer to her and shoved her shoulder, causing Tobin to falter backwards. “Why didn’t you say so!?”

“I didn’t know it mattered?”

“Tobin! I just taught you all the moves for right-handed attacks!” She shoved at her shoulder again but this time Tobin anticipated the movement and caught her wrist before it could make contact.

“See?” She said after a beat. “Better reflexes.” Tobin’s voice was cool and low as she held her gaze and it was Christen’s turn to be knocked off balance. She held her breath and knew Tobin could feel the beating of her heart, which quickened even more as Tobin’s eyes fell to her lips.

She was so close. The wisps of hair falling from her ponytail shined in the afternoon sun and Christen could see just how chapped her lips were. Tobin released her wrist eventually, bringing both of their arms down slowly before clearing her throat and taking a step back.

Christen tried to be grateful for the breaking of the tension but felt her heart sink just slightly with every step Tobin took away from her. 

“So, for lefty I just put the other foot in front?”

They stayed at the park for a few more hours, the footwork long-forgotten. Tobin pulled handfuls of grass from the ground as Christen lay next to her with her eyes closed.

“If you could take a class on anything in the world, what’d it be?”

“I’d take no classes.”

“Tobin…” She sat up. “Come on. On anything. Isn’t there something you’ve always wanted to learn more about?”

Tobin toyed with the grass near her. “Painting, I guess. Not like, art history, but how to paint. Acrylics and oils. Everything I’ve made has been just guessing on the best way how but I would want to learn about how I should be shading, what colors really should mix, all that. Have someone look at my work and make it better. Or clouds. Or sunsets. Or Portuguese.”

“You paint?”

“On occasion.”

Christen wondered aloud where Tobin could possibly find the time to paint between classes and Tobin explained that inspiration often struck when least expected. Kelley would find her hunched over a canvas in the middle of the night, unwilling to sleep until she got the colors and design exactly where she wanted them to be.

It was the kind of controlled chaos one might expect from someone as free-spirited as Tobin was.

“Okay, would you rather give up chocolate or give up cheese?”

“Hmm. Chocolate, I think. I couldn’t survive without pizza.” Tobin replied.

Christen scrunched her nose in response to someone possibly not choosing chocolate but couldn’t argue a life without pizza. She asked a few more questions and found that Tobin loved traveling by bus or train, was once pushed into a hotel pool fully clothed, and always preferred sunset to sunrise.

Tobin loved afternoons like these. They reminded her of a time before responsibilities, before phone bills and midterm exams and learning to cook more than just spaghetti. When the only thing that mattered was being home before it got dark and not losing the ball over the neighbor’s fence.

She was a real adult now, but something about learning a new sport in the park with a new friend brought out her childish side. She couldn’t resist resorting to old habits.

Tobin picked up a single blade of grass and ran it feather-light across Christen’s cheek.

“Stop it…” Christen whined. The corners of her lips tipped upwards and Tobin brushed the grass across her nose, causing it to scrunch again. She was going to do whatever it took to get Christen to laugh.

Tobin watched her smile grow more broadly. Success.

Christen swatted blindly as Tobin ran the grass over her forehead and missed her arm entirely. She covered her entire face in an effort to defend against the grass and Tobin paused for a moment. The Christen she’d come to know through a few brief phone calls and this afternoon was still evolving in front of her. Tobin had seen her competitive spirit, her mindfulness, and her appreciation for the outdoors, but the playfulness was perhaps the most fun aspect to discover.

Her laughter and her smile were truly something special, and Tobin was determined to bring them out as much as possible. Christen squirmed as Tobin poked her side and her shoulders shook when she laughed and Tobin did everything she could to commit the moment to memory.

Christen opened her eyes and peered out from behind parted fingers to find Tobin looking down at her with a closed-lip smile. She eclipsed the sun slightly and Christen took in the sight. It had been a long time since she’d had so much fun.

Whatever this was, it was all happening very quickly.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christen ventures to the suburbs to see what all the fuss is about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up, sports fans!

There was a chill in the breeze but the midday sun was warm on her face. Christen was grateful she’d grabbed her sunglasses before leaving for the suburban stadium. She found a seat in the bleachers, high enough up to see the action but safely away from the rowdier crowds below. An older couple wearing matching #19 hoodies took their seats near her and Christen couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the proud parents.

It had been a long time since she’d been to a live sporting event outside. Even longer since she’d been to one alone, if ever. She decided that high school football games didn’t really count, since the marching band had to be at them anyway, so this might have been her first time ever willingly attending a sports match.

Curiosity was a powerful motivator.

Tobin had tried to explain the thrills of the game last week but nothing about the environment translated well over the phone. Christen had laughed at Tobin’s frustration at not being able to explain with her hands or use the proper soccer jargon, but Tobin was relentless – explaining the buildup from the keeper through the defense and midfield, the thrill of a breakaway, the chaos of a corner kick. She painted a picture the best way she could. Her enthusiasm for the sport was infectious.

So she looked up the team schedule, drove to the suburbs, and bought a ticket to the game.

Plus, she welcomed the chance to see Tobin in her self-proclaimed “natural habitat”.

The teams warmed up on the pitch as Christen settled into her seat in the bleachers. It didn’t take long for her to pick Tobin out of the bunch – her hunched shoulders and low socks made her easy to identify. Her long hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail but the few baby hairs of her bangs still caught in the sunlight, and Christen wondered why she didn’t wear the pink or blue headbands that some of her teammates did.

She watched as Tobin squirted water on her arms and legs before jumping on to the pitch to start the match, sprinting towards her spot on the far side of the field. Christen cursed to herself when she realized Tobin would probably be too far away to see properly, forgetting for a moment that she was here to watch the game. To learn the sport. To see what all the fuss was about.

Not to think about how the maroon jersey made Tobin look somehow even more tan, or to watch her calves flex as she ran up and down the sideline.

The game started slowly and Christen followed the ball around the pitch. She had seen soccer a few times on tv and remembered seeing glimpses of a tournament years back, but she only knew the basics from high school gym class: no hands except for the goalie and put the ball in the goal to get a point. It seemed easy enough.

There was a surprising amount of yelling from the players during the game, though. That definitely didn’t happen in fencing or tennis. It must have been specific to team sports. The players shouted everything from commands to names to positioning. There were also strange phrases like “man on” and “push up” and “yeah, drop to keep” and Christen made a note to find out what they meant later. 

Every time Tobin touched the ball, Christen sat up a little taller. She was still far away from the action, too far, but Christen could see why the crowd had cheered so loud from her when her name was announced at the start.

Tobin was a magician with the ball. She held it at her feet as she streaked down the sidelines, dragging the defenders with her. Tobin brought the ball closer to the box and paused, dancing around the ball a few times before slotting it perfectly through the defender’s legs and chasing after it. She passed it back to her teammate in front of goal who deftly kicked it right into the back of the net.

The crowd cheered loudly and rose to their feet and Christen couldn’t help but join in the excitement. She watched Tobin run towards her other teammate, the one who scored, and jump on her back in celebration. It was clear that scoring one point was a big enough deal to deserve such a large celebration.

Christen couldn’t stop thinking about how easily Tobin had danced around the opposition defender, though. Even though she hadn’t been the one to score, that maneuver had set up the entire play and from the way the crowd cheered, it must have been a difficult move. But Tobin made it look easy. She made it look elegant and practiced, like second nature.

It was impressive.

She remembered what Tobin had said to her about the mental aspect of football. Clearly there was a lot of fitness and skill involved but they had to be mentally tough, too. They had to work together as a team and read the strategy of the opposing eleven players, all while managing their own mental toughness in the heat of competition. A few minutes after the goal, whistle blew as two players went to the ground and Tobin, along with her teammates, threw her arms in the air and yelled loudly towards the referee. Evidently, there was a competitiveness to Tobin, too, and it made Christen’s skin run hotter. The calm, goofy, lanky woman she’d met in the parking lot weeks ago had a few sides to her.

The game continued and Christen picked up on enough of the rules to get by – the white lines on the sides were out-of-bounds and you had to throw to get the ball back into play, if you ran into another player they often got the ball back, and so forth – but she found herself watching Tobin. Only Tobin. There was another feisty player also on the team, the one who scored the goal, who she enjoyed following around, but she wasn’t who she was here for.

When the teams switched sides at halftime Tobin was positioned on her side of the pitch, and it got even harder to watch the game.

Christen listened to the commentary of the parents next to her as Tobin carefully placed the ball near the flag on the corner. She surveyed the field and raised one hand before delivering a perfectly lofted ball into the crowded area before the goal. Red jerseys clamored for the ball as it bounced around and Christen found herself shouting with the rest of the crowd.

With time winding down and the score still tied, Christen could tell that both teams were fighting for the next goal and the potential to win the match. She watched Tobin kick the ball far up the middle of the field and into the path of her smaller teammate, #19, who continued to sprint forward. The crowd was on their feet, awaiting the chance for a goal, when the opposing defender slide tackled her from behind. The defender had missed the ball completely and instead had launched herself cleats-first into the forward’s ankles to stop the attack.

The crowd shouted loudly for a foul to be called and Christen held her breath as she heard the cry from the forward who had stayed on the ground clutching at her ankle. Tobin’s shout was piercing through the clamor as she ran towards the referee, clearly demanding for some kind of punishment for the defender. Another teammate, this one wearing some sort of arm band, put her hand on Tobin’s shoulder and continued the loud conversation with the referee and Tobin raced away towards the injured player.

Christen took in the scene before her. The crowd cheered when the referee finally pulled a red card from her shirt pocket, but Tobin stayed near the injured player until she was finally able to limp off the field. The whirlwind of events had happened so fast – the speed of the breakaway, the reckless collision, the screaming and the red card, and the gentleness between teammates – Christen wasn’t sure how either team could possibly approach the remaining six minutes of the match with the same focus they’d had just minutes earlier.

From the beginning fencing was always introduced to her as a mental chess match. Every point was something new and every second it could change. She was taught from an early stage how to manage that element and it was integrated into her strategy and fitness. But now, on this field, twenty-two players had to manage running for nearly 90 minutes _and_ the mental stamina, which was now complicated by a very emotional play. She wondered what was going through Tobin’s head.

She didn’t have to wonder long.

Their team was awarded a free kick about six yards outside of the larger box and just off-center from the goal. Tobin and another player stood a few feet behind the ball. She watched Tobin stare down the goal and take a deep breath before the whistle blew.

Tobin struck the ball with her right foot at full power and the ball curled over the wall of the defenders and into the top left corner of the goal, out of reach of the diving goalkeeper.

It was sensational. Despite how little she knew about the game, she knew that was the kind of goal that would be on highlight reels for years to come.

The stands around her erupted and teammates rushed to Tobin, who was already sprinting towards her own bench to celebrate with her injured friend and teammate. Christen’s voice was hoarse from yelling along with the crowd by the time the game ended and her cheeks felt a bit sunburnt, but she was still riding on the collective adrenaline rush from the crowd and the final minutes of the game.

She had to admit, it was fun.

As the final whistle blew, the steely demeanor of Tobin during the competition was replaced by the softness she knew well. The sweat had dried on her brow but Christen could still see the crinkles of her eyes as she laughed. Tobin lumbered towards her teammates in the huddle and curled under the arm of a taller teammate as she listened to the coaches, the injured #19 limping to the other side of her.

The stands emptied slowly and Christen made her way to the parking lot. She spotted Tobin’s green Subaru near the back of the lot and waited near the car for the players to emerge from the stadium. A voice inside head her told her it was a silly idea, that she should just call Tobin later tonight like she usually did, but the adrenaline carried her through the long wait and she pushed the worry from her mind.

She was an athlete, too. She knew how much it meant to her when friends came to support her matches.

The knot in her stomach wasn’t really for whether Tobin would appreciate her coming, though. Not really. The worry was just how much she wanted to show Tobin that she appreciated her. She wanted Tobin to know that she chose to spend her Saturday in the stands watching her score a game-winning goal, and that she’d do it again even if it meant watching them lose 6-0 in the rain and cold.

She wanted Tobin to know.

_That_ part scared her when she finally admitted it to herself.

A few players filed into the parking lot and Christen spotted the low socks around Tobin’s ankles before even seeing her face.

“Yo, Tobes, who’s that by your car?”

Tobin looked up and saw the outline of a figure – an outline she knew anywhere. Christen.

“Yeah, Tobin, who is she?” Her teammates snickered.

Christen waved to her and Tobin felt a rush of blood to her chest and smiled slowly as she waved back.

“Leave me alone, Cheney,”

The other teammates shoved her as they walked towards the other end of the parking lot, apparently content to make fun of Tobin and her mystery visitor at a later time. Christen watched as the corners of Tobin’s smile tilted farther upwards, starting with the left and then creeping along the width of her face. Her hair was tied in a half knot atop her head and bounced gently as she approached the car.

“Hey, superstar.” She said quietly.

“What are you doing here?” Tobin’s voice was an octave higher than usual and another rush of adrenaline washed through Christen. Mission accomplished, she mused.

“Well, you’ve seen my sport. I thought I would see what all the fuss was about. Nice goal, by the way. I thought you were a lefty?”

Tobin tried to formulate a retort, but nothing was there. Instead she just stared in wonder, unblinking, at Christen, who was still standing by her car and calling her _superstar_. They had beaten the top-ranked team, she scored the game-winning goal and had an earlier assist, and now Christen Press was waiting for her, sunburnt and reciting details from her game.

She could pinch herself and wake up from this dream any minute.

“You came all this way?”

Christen could hear the smile in her voice and despite how fun it was to tease Tobin, she opted for sincerity instead. They’d both had enough excitement for one day. She rested her hands atop Tobin’s shoulders and smoothed over them, grounding herself and relishing in how she could feel them rise and fall with every breath Tobin took.

“And I’d do it again,” She said softly. “You hungry?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter isn't really my favorite as the plot is still developing, but thanks to everyone for sticking around for this ride. Hope you're all still staying as safe and healthy as you can!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tobin gets caught studying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More sports talk! Thanks everyone for sticking along for this ride so far and I hope you'll stick by for the next few bits too.

Christen really needed to study for her upcoming midterm, but Tobin’s mumbling and fidgeting were distracting, even from her far-away position on the couch. Tobin had weaseled her way into her apartment with armfuls of snacks and coffee. Her promise that she’d be studying too was a long shot but Christen welcomed the company and excuses to take more regular breaks.

“How do you even…” Tobin’s whisper broke the silence.

Christen looked up from behind her glasses and found the other woman had put on a pair of headphones and was clearly watching something on her laptop, very much not studying. In fact, she hadn’t heard typing for fifteen minutes.

“What are you watching, Tobes?” She called over.

Tobin knew she’d been discovered, but she didn’t miss a blink. “I’m studying.”

It wasn’t entirely a lie. She wanted to be prepared for two weekends from now. There was an invitational in San Francisco and Tobin’s team had a week off, so she fully intended to be there. She still didn’t understand more than how to move forward and backward and the few rules she had read, so she tried watching a few videos. Film study had helped her learn juggling tricks and opponent strategy, but fencing moved so quickly that even after hours of watching she was only beginning to grasp the complexity of the sport.

“Studying what?”

“Uh, nothing,”

“Uh huh,” Christen crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “Take out your headphones.”

“What?” Tobin’s voice raised an octave. She hadn’t expected Christen to so blatantly call her out, but there really wasn’t much she could do to protect herself now.

“I want to hear the nothing, too.” She said with a teasing lilt in her voice.

Tobin sighed heavily and gave in. She removed her headphones.

Christen immediately recognized the familiar pitch of the electronic beeping and clashing of metal and tried to hide the surprise on her face. She had expected a lot of things, mostly expected an old soccer match, but not this. She took in Tobin’s crooked smile and waited for Tobin to explain herself.

“I told you I was studying. I want to understand at the next invite,” Tobin said as she scraped at the base of her neck. “And it’s important to you – I want to be able to talk to you about it.”

The sentiment hit Christen right between her ribs. Tobin didn’t just want to learn for her own self-interest and curiosity… she wanted to be able to support her. To talk with her about something that was important to her.

No one had ever taken an interest in her sport like this, not even her sisters. Fencing was the only thing that defined her in her adult life. It got her into college, it was how she found her friends, and her athletic accomplishments were all she really had to show for herself. An individual sport also permitted her to live an independent life: a life she could control and create. The loneliness of solitude was just part of it all.

No one had ever wanted to share this part of her life with her.

She felt herself blushing. Tobin Heath was _something_.

“Are you learning anything?” She asked quietly. Despite the emotions that had flooded to the surface, Christen couldn’t resist the chance to tease Tobin, who was still squirming on the couch. The question was rhetorical, and surely Tobin could hear the joking undertones.

“Not a thing,” she laughed.

Christen closed her book and hopped up to join Tobin on the small couch. “Scoot over.” Tobin shifted a bit but Christen was still deliberately in her space. Their shoulders were touching and Tobin could feel the softness of her leggings against her bare knees. “2005 Worlds, huh?”

Tobin could smell the almond scent of shampoo as Christen leaned closer to the laptop. “You’re gonna teach me?”

Christen adjusted the video to half speed and turned the volume to low. “I could, if you want,” she said, suddenly a bit shy. She wasn’t sure if Tobin actually wanted to learn or if she would be overstepping, putting too much of herself out there and onto the other woman.

“Yeah,” Tobin’s mouth was still dry on account of the sudden and deliberate closeness. “Yeah, definitely. But remember, I’m a beginner.”

Christen nudged her shoulder with her own and Tobin tried to focus on the slowed-down video.

Christen explained the basics of the attacks as they watched the bout. The first point awarded was relatively simple – a beat attack and uncontested lunge. The fencer on the left shook her head as she walked back to the line defeated and Tobin guessed that it must have been a fairly elementary way to score a point.

The second was more confusing. The two blades clashed as the fencers fought from a close distance, ultimately resulting in simultaneous yellow and red lights. Tobin had read that the green and red lights were awarded when the tip of the blade landed on the torso, on the gray metallic covering that represented target area, and yellow meant that the tip was off-target. Points were only scored for points that were on target.

And yet, the fencer on the right with the red light hadn’t been awarded a point.

“Wait,” Tobin protested. “Why didn’t Italy get the point?”

“Okay, for starters, she’s only one person, not a whole country.” Tobin rolled her eyes as Christen continued with a smile. “She didn’t have the right-of-way.”

“So even though she hit the lamé she doesn’t automatically get the point?”

Christen’s ears perked up at the term. Tobin _had_ been studying. There was no way she would know the correct term for the metal overcovering, with the correct French pronunciation, without having done some research. The concept of right-of-way, on the other hand, was the hardest thing to learn and explain and even harder to grasp in real-time. “Her touch landed on-target but the German still had her blade and the right-of-way. So, action stops where they are and they’ll restart.”

Tobin watched as the bout resumed exactly where it had left off. They watched a few more points and Christen provided some simple commentary, not overwhelming but not patronizing. Tobin genuinely did want to learn and while world championships weren’t exactly the best way to teach the basics, she appreciated that Tobin had done what any elite athlete would have done: learned from the best.

She found herself swept up in the action of the bout, too. The two fencers chose a style similar to hers, waiting to strike rather than capitalizing on infighting, and spent a lot of time maintaining distance.

“Nice riposte,” She muttered to herself after a particularly long build-up to the point.

Tobin loved sports jargon, and especially loved when it involved Christen Press speaking French from such a close distance. She could feel the heat radiating off of Christen’s body, the muscles of her arm moving and the bones in her shoulder pressing more and more against hers every time she pointed towards the small screen.

As the bout went on, Christen got more and more animated with her explanations. Her outstretch hand automatically assumed the shape of the grip on the weapon as she mimicked the moves and explained the various positionings and attacks.

Tobin was mostly ignoring the screen at this point, instead enjoying the way Christen’s fingers knew exactly how to twist the invisible blade, until the fencer on the right did a move that got her attention. The fencer leaned back and out of reach of her opponent, circled the blade with her own and landed a perfect touch near her shoulder after lunging.

“Woah,” Tobin leaned closer to the screen. “That looked perfect.”

Christen caught a glimpse of the wonder in Tobin’s eyes and smiled. The circle six parry riposte was one of the first counterattacks she perfected, and the Italian on the screen did execute it perfectly.

“That’s my favorite move,” She admitted.

Tobin paused the video and turned to face her, holding out her left arm. “Show me?”

Christen turned to face her and carefully corrected the positioning of Tobin’s wrist and forearm to properly demonstrate the move. “Okay,” She said. “Attack.”

Tobin extended her arm towards Christen. “First, I have to evade the attack,” She said as she leaned backwards and exaggerated the motion. “Then, I have to get your blade out of the way and reclaim the right-of-way.”

She circled her wrist around Tobin’s, moving from the outside in, and directed her forearm so that her wrist pointed into the air beside them, maintaining deliberate contact and mimicking the blades during the bout. “This parry is called circle six.”

“Because of the circle,”

“Yeah,” Christen laughed. “Now that your blade is off target, I can attack without worrying that you’ll hit me.” Christen extended her arm, her wrist sliding up the entire length of Tobin’s arm, and poked her collarbone.

“Touché pour moi.” She said quietly.

The tension was heavy in the air between them and Tobin was frozen. Christen’s finger still lingered on her chest as she turned to face her with a gentle smile and Tobin wondered if she could feel her heart beating wildly below. She was so close. Her eyes instinctively flicked to Christen’s lips.

Christen moved her hand to rest on Tobin’s thigh but she remained just inches away. She looked back to Tobin’s darkened eyes leaned in closer. Tobin’s breath was shallow and her mouth slightly agape and Christen wondered what her chapped lips would feel against hers, if she’d be able to taste the peppermint of her lip balm. They were impossibly close, close enough to feel Tobin’s breath against her lips, close enough to –

“Hey, Chris, I brought home… oh – ”

Christen pulled away quickly and brushed the edges of her hair backwards as Becky entered the living room carrying take-out.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize we had company,”

Christen blushed and turned to apologize to Tobin, but Tobin was already shoving her laptop into her bag and stumbling through an excuse about having to meet up with some friends later. She was already halfway out the door before Christen could process what had just happened and left without so much as a goodbye.

Christen felt her heart sink as she watched the latch click closed. She knew Tobin’s excuses were a lie, knew she probably screwed it all up somehow, but Tobin was already long gone before she even considered chasing her down to explain herself.

Christen spent the evening alone on the balcony and was grateful Becky hadn’t really said anything to her. She was still trying to work out what happened before the chaos of Tobin leaving so hastily.

Had she wanted to kiss her? She hadn’t ever really felt the need to come out and thought that by now she and Tobin were surely on the same page, but what if Tobin had interpreted her pulling away as shame and embarrassment? It wasn’t that at all… was it?

No. It wasn’t that at all. She was just overwhelmed. Nothing had ever felt quite so real, so meaningful, so intentional. Their flirty banter and the sports-related teasing were all fun and games but things felt real with Tobin, and it wasn’t something she was familiar with. Not this early in a relationship, that’s for sure. She didn’t want to screw it up so early.

She curled up closer in the chair and sighed. But she had screwed it up, hadn’t she. She pulled away. She let her leave. Tobin hadn’t even sent a text that night like she usually did. Maybe she really did have to meet up with friends and get up early, but Christen doubted it. She’d fumbled it, big time.

The sliding door opened and Becky came onto the balcony holding two glasses of wine. “Thought you might want some,” She offered.

Christen grabbed the glass and nodded in silent permission for Becky to join her. She didn’t want to talk about it, not really, and Becky knew her well enough not to pressure her.

“You don’t have to explain,” She said. “I just want to make sure you’re alright. You’ve been quiet tonight and I feel responsible.” Christen opened her mouth to respond but Becky waved her off.

They sat in silence for a while. The turmoil of the afternoon still boiled in Christen’s mind and she continued to talk herself in circles, the wine doing little to quell the storm. Maybe… maybe if she told Becky about it, Becky could help. Becky had the most successful relationship she knew and she’d always been jealous of how easy they made it look. She sighed and took a final swig of the wine.

“So,” She whispered. “There’s this girl.”

Becky smiled and set her own glass aside. She adjusted herself dramatically and Christen laughed. This was the best part of having roommates – goofing off and getting to talk about things that didn’t deserve to be cooped up alone in one’s mind.

“Tell me about her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do love a good cliffhanger and "ah beans I gotta... go" trope, because let's face it, who doesn't?


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tobin struggles through the aftermath of the afternoon on the couch, and Christen takes action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My schedule has gotten a little wonky again with work but I'm doing my best. Hang in there, sports fans.

Tobin sent a third ball well over the net and dug her nails even farther into her palm. She chased down a nearby ball and kicked it far across the field in frustration with her hands still balled into tight fists.

“Heath!” Her coach shouted and Tobin threw her head back. She’d been caught. “A lap!”

Tobin shook her head and took off down the field. Practice usually allowed her to clear her head but today, nothing was working. She couldn’t connect a pass, her volleys were off, she was tripping over defenders and making reckless tackles, and none of her shots were on target.

She was distracted and frustrated and everything was making it worse. She sprinted down the final leg of the field, hoping that maybe by brute force she could sweat out whatever feelings were preventing her from playing well.

After she sent a fifth ball over the net she realized that her efforts were unsuccessful, but she managed to keep the anger under control until practice was over.

Tobin shoved her muddy boots into her bag and stalked off the second after the team was dismissed. She stalked through the parking lot towards her car, eager to get away from it all.

“Tobin, wait up!” Kelley called after her, but Tobin only sped up. She wasn’t in the mood for Kelley today. “Tobin!”

Kelley caught up to her just before the edge of the lot and Tobin sighed as she shrugged the hand off her arm. “What do you want, O’Hara?”

“What’s up with you today? You almost broke my ankle earlier and then you launched that ball – are you alright?” She asked tentatively.

Tobin stared straight ahead. The short answer, of course, was no. She hadn’t talked to Christen since that afternoon on the couch, but Tobin couldn’t stop thinking about it. It didn’t make any sense. Christen had been the one who almost kissed her – she thought – but then she was the one who pulled away and pretended it hadn’t happened. Tobin was angry and hurt and confused and just wanted to put the ball in the back of the net to be in control of _something_ but even that hadn’t been working and Tobin just wanted Kelley to go away.

“I’m fine,” She lied.

Kelley caught Tobin’s arm again. “You’re not,”

“Kell – ” Her voice cracked against her will and Tobin felt the tears of frustration start to prick up behind her eyes. Between this emotional mess and her upcoming midterms, she didn’t have much fight left in her. She hoped Kelley would be able to read this as well as she’d read her during practice.

“Come on,” Kelley said as she wrapped her arm around her shoulder tightly. “Let’s get drunk.”

Tobin’s head was pounding the next morning, hazy memories of Gatorade and vodka and midnight pizza rolls came back to her in pieces. The sun was high on the horizon already and Tobin rummaged for her phone to check the time.

**[Christen, 8:26 am]** : _I don’t like not talking to you_

**[Christen, 8:26 am]** : _Call me when you wake up?_

**[Christen, 8:27 am]** : _If you want, of course_

Tobin squinted at the screen. 10:41 am. Her head still ached as she read the messages and her mouth still tasted like the night before. There was no way she could talk to Christen right now, not properly at least.

But she wanted to.

And that was something.

**[Tobin, 10:43 am]** : _Hungover. Kelley and vodka. Tonight?_

Tobin tossed her phone back to the bed and lumbered towards a shower. She ignored the buzz from her phone, favoring the feeling of the warm water to quell the throbbing of her head.

**[Christen, 10:45 am]** : _Can’t wait_

It was a while before Christen finally felt sure enough to reach back out to Tobin. The few days apart had given her time to re-center herself the same way she always had. She woke up early to do yoga and spent the afternoon writing or running to calm and empty her mind. It had worked, mostly, except that the thought of Tobin was still there, still burrowed just under her skin, impatiently waiting for the next shoe to drop. For her to do something. 

An opportunity presented itself sooner than she expected.

One of the sophomore sabreists was performing at an open mic night downtown tomorrow night. She had put a blanket invitation out to the entire team last week to watch and bring “and whoever they wanted” to boost the crowd. Christen was about to roll her eyes when she felt Becky’s elbow in her side and saw her nodding knowingly.

Her mind flashed to Tobin. The bar would be busy and she was going to be on the outskirts of the crowd away from the action and supporting from a distance, so having Tobin there wouldn’t draw unwanted attention. Normally she would avoid these sorts of evenings, but something about extending the invitation seemed intentional.

No more beating around the bush.

No more studying together on her couch and showing up to her game and pretending that she wasn’t open to more.

Christen made up her mind and reached for her phone. Tobin, of course, wouldn’t be awake this early, but she messaged her anyway and made a second cup of coffee. 

She wasn’t entirely sure why she dressed up for the evening, considering it was a Thursday night at _Mickey’s_ downtown, but that afternoon she had realized that she could count on one hand the number of times she hadn’t been wearing athletic clothes when she saw Tobin. As much as she loved watching Tobin’s eyes linger on her in skin-tight leggings, a part of her wanted to see if Tobin responded the same way when she put more attention into her appearance.

She straightened her hair, took care of her makeup, and put on her favorite pair of hooped earrings. She stood before her wardrobe and eventually grabbed a sweater and pair of tight jeans to block the chill of the spring air.

Becky shot her a knowing look as they left the apartment. “You look nice,” She said with her eyebrows raised. “I take it she’s meeting us there?”

Christen ignored her roommate’s teasing glare. “I hope so,” She said quietly. Truthfully, she didn’t know. She brushed the edges of her hair backwards with her hands and tried to forget that there was a chance Tobin wouldn’t want to see her and would come up with an excuse just as she had the last time they’d been close to each other. Her heart raced as her phone chimed, as if on cue.

**[Tobin, 6:42 pm]** : _You said mickey’s right? On bryant st?_

Christen sighed with relief and grabbed her keys before typing a reply.

Christen was nursing a gin and soda at a corner table when a familiar figure walked into the bar. She was suddenly glad she’d put effort into her look that evening, because Tobin had, too.

A flare of heat crept up her chest as she took in the sight.

The short-sleeved patterned shirt Tobin wore was buttoned all the way to the top and the sleeves were rolled up enough to show off her toned biceps. She ran a hand nervously through her loose wavy hair as she scanned the bar and Christen ducked behind someone else – wanting to enjoy the sight from afar for just a few minutes more.

It didn’t work.

Tobin started walking towards her almost immediately. Christen was momentarily disappointed that she wouldn’t have adequate time to adjust to Tobin’s presence – to ease herself in to what it felt like to look at her, wearing that, in this setting, looking for her – but at the same time she felt entirely relieved. She had spent the evening wondering if Tobin would even want to see her after what had happened, their brief conversation the night before really not clarifying much about how Tobin felt. But from the moment she entered the bar Tobin had sought her out and found her right away and _that_ was something.

Tobin approached the table slowly, tentatively, her hands still clammy from pacing up and down the alley earlier. She wasn’t entirely sure why she was nervous.

They had hung out before. They’d gone to bars before. Usually after practice or classes, but they had been to bars.

To Tobin, though, this felt different. Not just because of the almost-something on the couch a few nights ago and because of the way her stomach flipped at Christen’s laughter through the phone last night. Christen had invited her to a bar, on purpose, and was currently smiling at her from across the bar.

She looked stunning.

She always looked stunning, but seeing her in this setting and wearing four-inch hoop earrings, waiting for her, literally took Tobin’s breath away.

Tobin was glad she put some care into her wardrobe that evening.

The rips in her black jeans gave Christen a glimpse of the familiar skin below as she got closer to the table. Becky recognized the figure from the afternoon on the couch and excused herself quickly, mumbling something about needing to catch up with someone at another table.

Tobin slid into her space easily, comfortably, and Christen breathed her in.

“Hey,” Her voice was husky and soft. Was it possible to miss a voice in just a few days apart?

No. Not just a voice. She missed more than that.

“Thought you’d never get here,” Christen replied. “I thought I’d be stuck watching this thing by myself.”

“You invited me just to rescue you?” Tobin laughed.

“My hero,” She sang. Christen curled her arm around Tobin’s, leaned her head against her shoulder and looked up with bright eyes.

Tobin knew she had walked right into it, but the contact and teasing were back between them and Tobin welcomed it with a wide smile and roll of her eyes. 

“And no,” Christen continued, “Not just for that.”

They watched the small concert for a while, as a courtesy of course. Christen and her teammates cheered loudly when the shy and quirky sabreist belted out a Sara Bareilles acoustic cover, but she and Tobin were among the first to sneak away from the aftermath.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Christen offered. “Another drink?”

Tobin was quiet as she thought about it, but the buzz from the complimentary cocktails and the liquid courage she’d had before leaving her home had her already feeling light and warm. That, and Christen was still brushed up along her side, close enough to smell her perfume and feel the softness of her hair against her arms. She didn’t need any more to drink, but she certainly wasn’t ready to let go of the evening.

“I think I’m okay. Want to – want to walk somewhere?”

Christen intertwined their fingers and looked up to Tobin. Her tanned skin glowed in the low light of the bar and she could see apprehension behind her eyes shift to her eyes as soon as she squeezed her hand. Somehow Tobin always knew exactly what she was thinking.

“Lead the way,” She said quietly.

After wandering through the moonlit streets, they ended up near the practice soccer fields on the outskirts of campus. Christen made fun of her internal homing signal that brought her to the pitch but Tobin only smiled. Tobin didn’t realize she’d been leading them there, she was really just taking the longest route back to her apartment that she could think of, but something about it made sense.

Christen stood a few feet away and looked up to the stars that were more visible this far away from downtown.

But Tobin was only looking at her.

How did wandering into a gymnasium, wasting time after practice one day, end up with her next to this woman?

Christen closed her eyes and breathed in the night air. She had been to open fields like this before, but always with different intentions. When things were bad, when she was stuck inside her own head and couldn’t sleep, she would sneak out through her parents’ garage door and run. Six miles round trip to the elementary school fields.

She would practically sprint the first three miles, hoping the exertion would leave her empty enough to sleep when she got home, and always paused when she reached the school. She would take off her shoes and socks and walk the perimeter slowly and deliberately, letting the sweat and stress and pain drip onto the grass. As she walked she breathed in the night air, the sounds of the distant birds and wind in the trees, and let the damp grass replace the negativity in her brain and muscles. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t, but by the time she would be home she always slept better.

Now she found herself in a field for an entirely different reason. Tobin had led them here. Led her here.

She took a deep breath removed her shoes and socks and felt the damp, cool earth beneath her soles.

She had never told anyone about how her midnight runs were really only about the chance to ground herself. But telling Tobin felt safe. She would understand. She wouldn’t ask questions or try to impose.

Christen wanted to share it with her.

Tobin was already walking towards her before she could even start to explain, her eyes open and inviting, hoping to know everything.

They walked barefoot along the perimeter of the field, the backs of their hands brushing gently. Tobin silently enjoyed the ritual and enjoyed the fact that she got to participate in it at all.

Tobin’s fingers brushed lightly against hers again and Christen grabbed them. Their joined hands swung lightly as they finished the lap around the field. Christen nudged into her shoulder and knocked Tobin off-balance as they continued to walk. Apparently the silent meditation only lasted one lap.

“What are you thinking about?” Christen asked quietly.

Tobin was taken aback by the question. She hadn’t really thought about anything while they were walking, except for how important this all was to Christen. How it was a part of her psyche. Every minute she spent with Christen she discovered a new layer to the woman’s personality and just how extraordinary she was. There weren’t enough adjectives to describe her, really. The talented, athletic, beautiful, smart, meditative, compassionate, loving woman that was currently holding her hand, barefoot, in an abandoned soccer field in the middle of the night.

“You,” She replied quietly.

Christen blushed and squeezed her hand, hoping Tobin would continue.

“You’re… _remarkable_. Your intelligence, your compassion, this…” She shook her head and tried to find the words she wanted. Any words. But Christen left her speechless. “You are so far out of my league I’m not even sure we’re playing the same sport.”

Christen laughed quietly at the blush creeping up Tobin’s neck. “Well, we’re not,”

“You know what I mean – ”

Christen stopped walking and waited for Tobin to shake her head and turn back to her. The gentle waves of Tobin’s hair were backlight by the moonlight and her blush from earlier had faded. Now Tobin Heath stood before her, all of her. “You’re cute when you’re flustered,” She joked.

Tobin continued to stammer through a comparison of how if Christen was in the NBA she’d be playing in a Tuesday night league at the YMCA but Christen, as much as she enjoyed watching Tobin squirm, had other ideas.

“Tobin.” She reached out and tucked a wave of hair behind Tobin’s ear to catch her attention, but Tobin continued to talk. Christen moved to press her palm against Tobin’s cheek and brushed her thumb across the sharp line of her jaw. “ _Toby_ ,” 

She watched the features of Tobin’s face soften into the touch and her sentences fade away before closing the space between them. Tobin felt the warmth of the words against her lips.

“Stop talking.”

Christen smiled as she tipped her chin towards Tobin before gently pressing her lips to hers. The kiss was soft and slow as Tobin’s arms snaked around her back and she pulled the other woman closer, angling her head to get a better angle.

Christen grinned as Tobin pulled her closer until it became too wide to continue. She loosened her grasp and bit her lip as she looked back to Tobin. Her mouth was slightly parted on a silent _woah_ and the corner of her lips crept upwards.

The combination of the damp grass and evening air and the look in Tobin’s eyes sent a chill down her spine that she couldn’t ignore, and Christen shivered.

Tobin Heath was _something_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update July 1, 2020:  
> For the record, this fic isn't dead. My mental health has been tanked for the last few months so it's really hard to be creative right now. I hope to be back soon, but until then, I hope you'll wait up for what's next.

**Author's Note:**

> how we feeling, folks? 
> 
> If you're unfamiliar with women's foil fencing, I'd highly recommend watching a few videos, and you'll understand just how easily my brain formulated CP has a champion fencer.


End file.
